


Saints and Sinners

by ishafel



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-12
Updated: 2011-03-12
Packaged: 2017-10-16 21:37:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/169601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ishafel/pseuds/ishafel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry's job is to rehabilitate Lucius Malfoy. But will he go too far?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Saints and Sinners

Harry means to prove that however Death Eaters are born, decent men can be made. And he has, as a template, Lucius Malfoy, most dissolute of all the Death Eaters. Lucius wears the collar and leash as if he found them erotic. Lucius becomes aroused at the sight of restraints. Lucius's mind is so full of dirty memories that just looking through it makes Harry blush.

But Harry is determined to remake Lucius in his own image. He knows that somewhere, deep down, there is something in Lucius that wants to be saved, deserves to be saved. Harry believes this because he has to believe-because what else is there to differentiate men and animals?

Using Legelimency on Lucius is like diving headfirst into a sewer without so much as a Bubblehead Charm. Harry can barely see, barely think, barely keep from staring at the gorgeous naked bodies with which Lucius bombards him. Your first time, Harry commands him. Show me your first time. And he is prepared for the sight of Narcissa Malfoy's luscious pale body. He will not be subverted by her beauty. He knows that he is steadfast, where a lesser man might not be. That is why he took this task on himself.

He is not prepared for Lucius Malfoy at seven, a tiny monster with an adult's self-possession, on his knees before his father. He is not prepared for incest, or for the religious imagery in which Abraxas Malfoy couches the act. This talk of the Holy Spirit and blessed wine sickens him. And he is not prepared for the realization that a child so young could be so corrupt, could be so clearly unvictimized-could enjoy such a filthy act so very very much.

Because it is plain that the young Lucius is enjoying it, even if his mouth seems to be stretched beyond repair. His little hands stroke the soft round mounds of his father's testes. Around that monster cock his lips curve gently upward. Beneath his robes his child's penis stirs.

Harry is horrified. He disengages from Lucius's mind at once. No, he shouts, and sends a wave of magic through the collar. No, that isn't the way it was! Almost unconsciously he reshapes the encounter. This time Lucius struggles and his father binds him with magic. This time there is no pleasure in it for the boy, only fear and pain and the sickening taste of semen. More than thirty years later, Lucius shivers thinking of it. But around his neck the collar grows a little looser.

There are encounters after that-so many encounters. But for eight years they are meaningless, dirty and shameful as they doubtless are. Lucius appears to believe that sex is as necessary as breathing, and these encounters have no power over Lucius-they have done nothing to make him the man that he is. Harry ignores them as pointedly as he can.

Lucius is fifteen, and thinks of himself as an adult. Harry, who was an adult at fifteen, cannot help feeling a little smug. For all Lucius's splendid confidence, he's still a child, terrified of being caught outside of Slytherin House in the middle of the night. And he will be caught if he's not careful. Professors McGonagall and Dumbledore are on the prowl, both so much younger than they were in Harry's day. Both alive. Lucius has pressed himself against a wall deep in the shadows. He can see the two professors, but they cannot see him.

And he watches, an enthusiastic voyeur then and now, as they kiss deeply, and then tear at one another's clothes. Harry's horror jolts them both out of the memory, and he does his best to revise it without thinking too much about it. Lucius's hard-on slowly melts away: what he sees is no longer joyful or erotic; instead it is grotesque. He turns away, revolted. The collar loosens a little more-he is that much closer to normalcy.

Another memory: Voldemort. Lucius dangles by his bound wrists. Voldemort strikes him again and again with a whip made of magic and fire. There is a great deal of blood, and on Lucius's forearm the Dark Mark is fresh and raw and new. You like this, Voldemort has told him, and Lucius does like it. Despite the pain, because of the pain, his cock is impossibly swollen. He thrusts against empty air. Harry takes everything but the pain. It leaves Lucius sobbing for breath. After all he has seen Harry is still too soft. It is all he can do to remember that this is no more than Lucius deserves.

After that it is five years before Lucius has sex with anyone significant. Harry lingers over the memories of Snape, which are as close to pleasant, as nearly innocent, as anything he's seen in Lucius's mind-this despite the difference in their ages. But there is no real passion, only friendship, and in the end he lets them go. It will change nothing to take them.

When Lucius marries Narcissa Black he takes her virginity. She is the most beautiful woman he-and Harry-have ever seen; she lies back against the pillows like a queen while Lucius does his best to please her. He does not succeed-not entirely: Narcissa is dreaming of Bellatrix, and Lucius is picturing one of his beloved, nameless boys. But the memory is bittersweet, almost melancholy. Destroying it is like cutting out a piece of Lucius's heart. However unnatural their relationship was, it had been based on love.

Harry turns it dark. There are no more little moans from Narcissa, only tears. Lucius is frustrated, angry. The two of them quarrel, and now in Lucius's memory they go to bed side by side, lonely and desolate-and not curled together like sated puppies. No fear from Lucius this time, no revulsion, but Harry can tell that he knows he has lost something, and that he regrets it. The collar that was so tight when they began is loose around his neck. One more memory will make the difference, if Harry chooses it wisely.  
He has to remember that he's doing the right thing, curing Lucius's perversions. He's making it possible for the man to live in wizarding society safely. He takes a deep breath and plunges once more into the morass of Lucius's mind. This time, there are far fewer naked people. Whatever Lucius is thinking about, it's no longer sex. Which is the idea-and yet Harry cannot stop picturing Lucius's slim, muscular back as he thrust into Narcissa. All the beautiful people Lucius had sex with over the years, and he is the most beautiful of them all. What would it be like, to lie beneath him? Harry is ashamed of himself for wondering.

Schooling himself to dispassion, he flips through Lucius's remaining memories. There is a great deal of sex with Narcissa, and a few hot, angry encounters with Snape. Filtered by the new and improved lens of Lucius's past, it all looks rather tawdry and undesirable-as sex without love, without purpose, always does and always should. Lucius himself has fled the field, and vacated all but the furthest reaches of his mind. He need not be present at all for what Harry is about to do, and it will in fact be easier if he remains unaware.

Lucius is more than forty years old, and he looks no more than thirty. Azkaban has been kind to him, has taken the weight he could spare and most of his color: it has made him more attractive than he was the first time Harry saw him. The stone walls, the spare black of his clothing, gives him the look of a scholar or a priest, but his actions are decidedly unpriestly. He has the other man pressed with his back against the wall, a knee between his thighs, hands fisted in the other man's hair and tongue down his throat.

And the other man-Harry blushes, watching-the other man is panting, shuddering, on the verge of coming untouched in his pants. At the moment there is nothing Harry would rather do than let the memory continue as the occasion had not. But if he gives in, Lucius will have won, and not only Lucius but the Death Eaters, Snape and Voldemort and Narcissa and Abraxas Malfoy and the other nameless faceless bastards Lucius had fucked against walls hung with portraits of ancestors.

The Harry in the memory pulls away, squealing and slapping ineffectually at Lucius. Lucius laughs and lets him go. That is what happened. Harry changes the memory to match what should have happened. Again Harry breaks away; this time he knocks Lucius to the ground. How dare you, he says. How dare you try to bring me down to your level? Lucius grovels, begging for forgiveness. He has lost a portion of his looks along with his pride. Harry withdraws from his mind, leaving him on his knees, alone in the dark.

The collar has fallen from Lucius's neck. He is a free man, free and reformed and only marginally recognizable as the man he was when Harry's experiment began. Harry puts out a hand to steady him, and Lucius shies away from him, terrified and angry as a beaten dog, or a man who has spent ten years in the company of Dementors. And Harry thinks of Snape as he looked writhing beneath Lucius, and cannot wait to start on his next project.


End file.
